


Like Grains of Sand in an Hourglass

by VixenRose1996



Series: Vix's Commissions [3]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games), BioShock Infinite
Genre: F/M, Game Fusion, Gen, Kinda, all three games take place at once, ghost booker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VixenRose1996/pseuds/VixenRose1996
Summary: There's always a lighthouse. There's always a man. There's always a city. Those are the constants. Locations. Names. Times. Relationships. Outcomes. Those are the variables.  Constants & variables, elements & components. Those are what make up the lives of characters and stories of the world. And sometimes those stories intertwine, piling up on top of each other as time passes like grains of sand in an hourglass.
Relationships: Elizabeth/Jack (BioShock)
Series: Vix's Commissions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670857
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Elizabeth I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeppyFrog](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=PeppyFrog).



There's always a lighthouse. There's always a man. There's always a city. Those are the constants. Locations. Names. Times. Relationships. Outcomes. Those are the variables. Constants & variables, elements & components. Those are what make up the lives of characters and stories of the world. And sometimes those stories intertwine, piling up on top of each other as time passes like grains of sand in an hourglass. 

* * *

** Elizabeth I **

Elizabeth had lived all of her life pulled to and fro by the whims of men. Some of them were power-hungry, some were regretful, some were arrogant, some were delusional, and some were just sad. Booker DeWitt, who sold and then saved her. Zachary Comstock, who sought to control her. Robert Lutece, who helped steal her then helped set her free. Albert Fink, who made a game of turning blood, sweat, and tears of the underprivileged into money. Songbird, who loved her too much to ever share her with anyone else. Dr. Pettifog & Dr. Harrison Powell, who poked and prodded and jabbed and shocked her all under the name of 'caring' for her. Dr. Yi Suchong, who made her dance and jump through hopes for a useless hair sample. Andrew Ryan, who thought Elizabeth valued her life more than her own convictions. 

And then there was Frank Fontaine, the so-called Atlas.

It was almost chuckle-worthy; a man at the bottom of the sea who wanted not just to control Rapture but the surface world and industry as a whole named after the Titan who was doomed to hold up the sky for all of existence. 

So many jokes, so little time. 

Elizabeth wasn't afraid of Fontaine, no matter what name he went by. She wasn't afraid when he ordered her killed the first time. Elizabeth wasn't afraid when he stuck an ice pick in her eye and threatened to turn her into some mindless, drooling doll. 

So why would she be afraid when Atlas bashed her over the head with a wretch -even thinks back to doing something similar herself and feels only a little bit guilty in hindsight- and left her for dead? After all, with that first swing that smashed against her skull, both of their fates were sealed. Fontaine would fail, Rapture would die, and Sally would be free. 

Elizabeth would never get to see Paris, not really. She'd never get to paint another picture or crack another code or read another book that was not yet written. Her life would end here.

And that was okay. 

Right here, with Sally holding her hand and singing La Vie en Rose, Elizabeth could die happy knowing that the sweet, sad little girl would be saved from a life of pain and violence and death by Fontaine's own 'Ace in the Hole.' Maybe she wouldn't be around to see it, but it would still happen and that was the important thing. 

Constants and Variables, as the Lutece twins always said.

Death... that was one of the few true constants. 

* * *

_ "You remember songs of heaven _

_ Which you sang with a childish voice. _

_ Do you love the hymns they taught you, _

_ Or are songs of earth your choice? _

_ You can picture happy gatherings _

_ Round the fireside long ago, _

_ And you think of tearful partings _

_ When they left you here below. _

_ One by one their seats were emptied. _

_ One by one they went away. _

_ Now the family is parted. _

_ Will it be complete one day?" _

The last note from the strummed guitar hummed through the air as the string vibrated, mixing with the final word of 'Will the Circle Be Unbroken.' Booker was not exactly a good singer, years of alcohol and cigarettes having left his voice far too rough to carry a proper tune. But there was enough soulfulness left in his voice that, when he sang, it still sounded pleasant enough. 

But maybe Elizabeth... or, rather, Anna DeWitt was just biased.

"Can you play me another?" she asked, her head rested on Booker's shoulder as she stared out at the Seine River. 

Her father chuckled, nuzzling his prickly cheek against the top of her head. "You can't like my singing that much, sweetheart."

"I like your singing because it's  _ your  _ singing," Elizabeth pressed. "Hearing it makes me happy."

" _ Ahhh _ , I see," Booker nodded, adjusting the strings of his instrument. 

Elizabeth waited for him to start the next song but instead, after a long moment of silence, the man said, "You know that you have to go back, right?"

The young woman went tense. "What do you mean?" she growled, teeth clenched.

"You've got to go back, there is more for you to do in Rapture; there are more people that you can save, more tragedies you can stop, and more life for you to live," he explained, testing out a few plucked notes.

A flash of pain shot through Elizabeth's body, nearly breaking through the pretty dream of Booker & Anna Dewitt's peaceful Paris vacation. Soft and quiet, in a voice far younger than she felt, "What if I don't want to?"

"You gave up that choice when you decided to save Sally, Sweetheart. Now you are stuck dancing to the whims of destiny just like the rest of us," her father replied, not unkindly. 

.

.

.

"Do I have to leave right now?" 

The defeat in her voice was palpable.

"No, we have time for one more song."

"Thank you," Elizabeth whispered, tucking her face against Booker's shoulder again and threading her hands around the man's elbow. Neither could have made it easy to play the guitar but Booker didn't complain, instead he started up a tune. 

"Booker? Do you think they... the people of Rapture, the people I'm supposed to save... do you think they're afraid of God?" she asked. 

"No," her father shook his head. "But they'll be afraid of you."

_ "Did you ever see two Yankees part upon a foreign shore _

_ When the good ship's just about to start for Old New York once more? _

_ With a tear-dimmed eye they say goodbye, they're friends without a doubt; _

_ When the man on the pier shouts loud and clear, as the ship strikes out." _

* * *

Elizabeth Comstock or Anna DeWitt or Eliza Dewitt or Belle Comstock or Liz Songbird or whoever she was in this timeline, behind this door, was thrust back into consciousness with all the gentleness of someone falling through a deceptively thin sheet of river ice into the deadly cold waters below. 

" _ Ghhuuuuhhhh _ !" she gasped, pain shooting through her stiff body. Automatically, Elizabeth tried to sit up but the muscles in her body all spasmed, contracting rapidly and causing her to collapse back on the thin mattress beneath her. 

Unable to move properly, Elizabeth's eyes shot around the dim room as she tried to make sense of her predicament as panic fought its way to the surface. Cabinets? Mirrors? Chairs? Medical equipment? 

She flopped an uncoordinated hand down on her stomach and ran it over the thin, papery garment she was wearing _. 'A hospital gown? Is that where I am, a hospital? How did I get here?' _

Every muscle in her body still tingling with the pain of a thousand needles, Elizabeth gritted her teeth and grabbed at the first handhold she could find. In this case, it was a tray of medical needles and glass bottles of medications. It wasn't a particularly good anchor for finding her footing, however, as Liz immediately found herself crashing down to the floor the second she put too much pressure on the tray. Broken glass, split medicine, and fallen needles scattered around her, and a sharp pain in her arm told Liz that she’d ripped out an IV line from her arm. Elizabeth pushed herself up on her weakened forearms and crawled toward the thin stream of light provided by the cracked open door. 

"...lp," she croaked, her throat dry and rough from disuse. "Help...me."

Weak as her call was, someone obviously heard it because Elizabeth heard the distinctive sound of high heeled shoes against a hard floor coming towards her. She went to call out to them but before Elizabeth could force anything out, the door was thrown all the way open. 

Silhouetted against the bright hall was a female figure with pinned-up hair and heels. The woman looked down at Elizabeth, her features obscured, and swore in another language. She bent down, grabbed Liz under the arms and hauled her up to sit back on the hospital bed. 

"Le... go," she growled weakly, trying to shove the woman away. 

"Stop that," the woman hissed as she swatted Liz's hands away. Then she shined a small, bright light into Elizabeth's eyes, holding the younger woman still when Liz attempted to squirm away. "Evenly dilated pupils... color is good... no fever... and the wound is healing properly. Good."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to generate saliva. Her words were still heavy and slow, but she finally managed to get out a full thought, which, she supposed, was already an improvement. "I... don't... have a concussion. Where... am... I?"

The woman tutted and pulled something small from her shirt pouch. "It is good you are finally up but I am not ready for you yet."

Liz went to ask what that meant but then she felt a sharp pain in her neck and the darkness returned with vengeance. 

* * *

When Elizabeth next regained consciousness, it was in a much gentler way. Her dry eyes flickered open, blinking rapidly as her vision came into focus. A quick glance around told Liz that she was still in the same room she'd woken up previously and had been resettled onto the bed, her IV reinserted. 

Mouth still dry, she coughed out, "Hello?"

At first, nothing happened but, after a few more calls, the door creaked open once more. Elizabeth's eyes widened as the distinctive figure of a blonde Little Sister pattered into the room.

"Sally?" Elizabeth whispered, her heart fluttering with hope... only for it to be brutally crushed after a closer look revealed that this was another girl.

_'How many Little Sisters are out there? How many little girls have had their lives stolen and their bodies twisted by this city?'_ she thought mournfully. "H... hi, Sweetheart, do you know where I am?"

The Little Sister cocked her head to the side, blinking her large, distorted eyes. Then she turned back to the doorway and whispered in that eerie little voice of hers, "The pretty lady is awake."

There was the distinctive sound of tiny bare feet on a linoleum floor and three more Little Sisters filed into the room, none of which were Sally. They all blinked up at Elizabeth and parroted, "The pretty lady is awake."

"Little Ones, it is rude to hover around the patients," a woman's accented voice called out. "Please give me space; go check on detoxing rooms."

The blonde Little Sister, seemingly the leader of this little group, gave a low whine but then there was the click-clack of high heels and a slender woman with green eyes and graying brunette hair entered the room. She patted the girl on the head before tutting and pushing her forward, "Go on, Little Ones you have chores to get to. Then you may play."

With identical pouts and huffs, the four Little Sisters shuffled away. The woman clicked her tongue but smiled wryly, "Little troublemakers, never listening. So sweet though."

"I know you!" Elizabeth realized, forcing herself to sit up despite her sore, stiff muscle screaming at her. "You're Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum!"

"Yes," the doctor replied, pulling out a small flashlight. "Tilt your head back and keep your eyes open. Double or blurry vision? Confusion? Headache? Nausea or vomiting? Ringing ears? Difficulty concentrating?"

Fighting the urge to close her eyes and flinch away from the bright light, Elizabeth stared upward. "No to the vision problems, no to the nausea, no to the ringing ears, and no to the concentration problem. I do have a headache though, probably because I was bashed in the head with a wrench! I'm also confused because I'm pretty sure you're working for Ryan and I'm pretty sure if Andrew Ryan had me then I'd be locked up somewhere, not getting medical treatment."

Just because Elizabeth had cut herself off from the doors, from the universe, doesn't mean that she couldn't remember everything she'd seen and learned. It was all still there, it just meant that she couldn't quite pull that information into focus; it was the same frustration as when you couldn't remember the right word for something and it was stuck on the tip of your tongue. 

Having all the answers so close yet so unreachable was frustrating, almost as much as being stuck in that damn tower. 

"I did work for Ryan," Tenenbaum nodded, "but not for a long while now. I would not be surprised if he tried to keep up an illusion that I still was, however. What did he do? Hire someone to play me in public appearances?"

"I... guess so," Elizabeth mumbled. 

That was as adequate enough explanation as anything, she supposed. 

"Where-"

**_ AHHHHHHH! _ **

A scream -loud, drawn-out, and anguished- tore through the air, echoing through the halls of... wherever they were.

Liz jumped, jostling away from Tenenbaum as her head jerked towards the door. "What the hell was that?"

The doctor clicked her tongue, "An experiment. It is going... well, it is going."

_ 'Is she being purposely obtuse or just doesn't realize she isn't actually answering me?'  _ Elizabeth thought, annoyance building. "Where am I? Your house?"

"House... yes, I suppose it is," the older woman nodded after a moment of contemplation. "This is a safe house facility I set up for myself and all the Little Ones I could gather after I went into hiding. I never intended to bring anyone else into our lives but, after Rapture fell... I suppose it just didn't feel right to leave everyone out to die."

.

.

.

"Rapture... what? Fell? I don't understand! For god's sake, tell me what is going on!" Elizabeth demanded, rising wobbly to her feet look the doctor in the eyes. She'd seen the fall of Rapture in her visions, of course, by not how. Not why. 

Tenenbaum pursed her lips, biting at the inside of her cheek, and was silent for a long time before... "You've been unconscious for a long time,  _ Liebling _ , and much has changed in that time." 

To prove her point, the older woman pinched a lock of Elizabeth's messy black hair and held it up to show that it was now to her mid-back. Liz's eyes widened and jolted backward, yanking her hair out of the woman's grasp.

_ 'For it to grow that much... I must have been out for months! Maybe half a year!' _

"Rapture is no more," Tenenbaum pushed forward. "The people have descended into chaos. Greed, lack of order, and ADAM addiction all played their part, of course, but perhaps this is what the city deserved? Perhaps that is what we all... Ryan, Fontaine, Lamb, myself, and all the rest deserved?"

A cold, uncomfortable silence settled between them. Eventually, Elizabeth could no longer stand it and swallowed hard against her dry throat. "If that is what you believe, then why set up this safe house? Why are you trying to protect people?"

"Because while I may deserve this, the Little Ones do not!" Tenenbaum snapped immediately. "The Little Sisters, they are my creation. I am the reason their innocence has been stolen. I am damned to Hell for my actions, that I have known for a long time. But my Little Ones deserve better, they deserve a chance. I have a plan to save them... and you are going to help me."

A refusal was already on Liz's lips when...

**_"There is more for you to do in Rapture."_ **

.

.

.

"What do you have in mind?"

A small smirk twitched on the scientist's lips and she turned, digging through a small cupboard to pull out an oversized robe and slippers. 

"Put these on and follow me."

Ignoring the musty, old person smell, Elizabeth obeys]ed and followed the swiftly moving Tenenbaum out of the room and through the narrow, poorly lit hallways of the safe house facility. The pair met no one on their walk but Liz could still hear the faint echoing of voices, screams, and footsteps. 

"There, do you see him?" Tenenbaum asked when they finally came to a stop, pointing out a window to the murky ocean floor.

Elizabeth squinted through the gloom at a barely discernible mass covered in algae and barnacles, "Is that a Big Daddy?"

"Yes, but a very special one," the scientist confirmed. "His name is Subject Delta."


	2. Elizabeth II

** Elizabeth II **

The water that spurted down from the showerhead in an unsteady flow was lukewarm, brackish, and smelt a bit funny. But it was also clean and it felt so refreshing to be able to wash off all the built sweat and oil from her body and hair that Elizabeth didn't care. Tenenbaum told her that the showers were on a ten-minute limit -"to converse power and water, supplies are stressed after all"- so Liz worked quickly, even as she did her best to enjoy it, rubbing a thick later of plain, unscented soap suds over her body and through her too-long hair. 

All too soon the water dripped to a stop and Elizabeth was left wringing the last bit of soapy water from her dark locks. Newly shaven, cleanly washed, and completely refreshed, Liz emerged from the little concrete shower stall, wrapping a rough, off white towel around her body and her eyes falling on the bag of supplies Tenenbaum had given her. It had contained the towel and the bar of soap, in addition to -Liz discovered after rifling through its contents- some clean clothes, shoes, and, to her relief, some hairpins, a razor, a comb, and pair of scissors. 

The clothes left for her were, aside from the usual undergarments, a simple white shirt and a pair of denim coveralls. Slipping it on, Elizabeth noticed that it fit unusually well and purposely shoved that through to the back of her mind, lest she spend too much time pondering what it meant. Still, it was warm enough and, combined with the thick wool socks under steel-toed work boots, it was enough to fight off the constant chill that clung to Rapture no matter how many heaters were installed. 

_ 'Now for the hair,' _ Liz thought, approaching the bathroom mirror as she rubbed the damp towel against her scalp. The comb was an ugly, wooden tooth thing that caught and pulled at the tangles in her locks. It took a long time -and a sore scalp- for Elizabeth to get her hair smooth but with grit and determination, it got there.

Then she picked up the scissors, gathered her hair up in one fist, and readied herself to make the first cut at the top of her shoulders. 

"You could leave it long, your mother always did."

Liz's blue eyes went wide as the familiar form of one Booker DeWitt appeared in the mirror, slouched down on one of the bathroom benches and smoking a cigarette. When she turned around to look at the bench, it was empty. 

_ 'Of course, it is. Booker is dead. Dead and gone by my own hand,'  _ Elizabeth reminded herself sternly, even as pangs of grief hit her heart. "Did it look nice?"

"Like something out of one of those fancy old paintings," Booker nodded wistfully. "Especially when she'd let it down to dance around the kitchen or relax in the afternoon. On a nice day, the sun would shine on it or the wind would blow it around and I would swear I was looking at an angel. It was soft too, like silk."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. The images of Lady Comstock she'd seen always showed her so prim and proper, dressed to the nines and the total image of a proper upper-class wife, so to think of her... or, at least, another reality's version of her, as just some normal woman was quite strange. 

"Wha... what was she like? As a person, I mean? What was she like as a person?" Liz asked, her voice quiet and hesitant. Part of her didn't want to know. There was a reason that she'd never peeked behind one of the very view doors in which Annabelle had survived -a very rare occurrence, she almost always died; usually, it was in childbirth but sometimes by illness and sometimes by murder- after all. "Was she a good person?"

Booker bit the inside of his cheek and looked to the side as he let out a low hum like he was trying to think about what to say. "She... had her demons. Belle, she was older than me when we met and, well, I wasn't her first beau. One of the first things she admitted to me after we met is that she'd hurt people of the past. But I had too and a lot worse than her, at that. We made each other better though, in the end."

That wasn't necessarily that answer Elizabeth hoped for, but it was a satisfactory one nonetheless. 

"Do you miss her?" she asked, snipping away the bottom three inches of her hair.

"Always... but I'm glad she didn't live to see the person I became," Booker replied, lighting up another cigarette. "So, what do you think of Tenenbaum's plan?"

"I still don't know much about it," she replied. "She says this... Subject Delta will help us bring down Atlas and Ryan, help us save as many Little Sisters as possible. I'm not sure how though; apparently, she'll explain more after I've washed and eaten."

"Do you trust her?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth admitted with a shrug. "She seems to honestly want to help the Little Sisters and she has been taking care of me these past months... but she also worked with both Ryan and Fontaine. On top of everything, she is responsible for the creation of the Little Sisters in the first place! God, I need a cigarette!"

Booker snickered, "No, you don't. They're bad for you; best you kick the habit now."

He said that even though he was smoking right now. He said that even though he smoked from the age of eleven. He said that even though he had no way of knowing how bad smoking actually was for the human body. He said that even though he was dead.

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" she teased.

"Do as I say, not as I do. Isn't that what parents are supposed to say in situations like this," he asked with a chuckle, causing Liz to laugh as she pinned up her freshly trimmed hair.

But after that brief moment of happiness, Elizabeth found herself frowning. She sighed, "In the end, I don't think it even matters if I trust her or not. As you said, I still have work to do in Rapture and right now she is the only ally I have. So I'm just going to believe Tenenbaum is acting on good intentions for now."

"Be careful with that," Booker warned. "Even the best intentions can be tainted by hatred or ambition or greed."

"You don't have to warn me about that, Booker," she replied grimly, guilty memories needling at her mind. "I know that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions better than anybody. I've seen it play thousands of times in thousands of timelines."

Booker had the decencies to look bashful, "Sorry, kid. I know I shouldn't push but I don't just want you to end up like Daisy or-"

"Daisy was a hero and a victim," Liz snapped. "She didn't deserve her fate any more than the rest of us."

"Don't count me in with that group, I definitely deserved mine," Booker replied. When Elizabeth shot him an aghast look, she just got a shrug and a wry grin in reply. "Just... be careful, Elizabeth. Neither of us can see how this is going to end up."

Liz closed her eyes and smiled, "Thank you, Booker. I know you're not really here but seeing you makes me feel better."

.

.

.

After a long moment of awkward silence, her hallucination piped up again. "What are you planning to do about Fontaine's so-called 'Ace in the Hole'? Are you going to try to find him or..."

"I'm not sure," Liz admitted. "In the timeline I saw and altered, I wasn't involved past the initial set up. What if meeting him face to face changes the outcome? What if I end up getting him killed? Honestly, for now, I'm just playing things by ear. Maybe-”

**_ Creek! _ **

Elizabeth cut herself off as the bathroom door swung open and Dr. Tenenbaum walked in. She looked around and blinked, "Who were you talking to?"

Turning back to the mirror, Liz felt her heart sink a little when she saw that Booker was no longer there. "No one. I was just... talking to myself."

Tenenbaum gave her a somber but knowing look. "I have my fair share of ghosts as well. Sometimes I talk to them too. It is not that unusual, no need to be ashamed."

_ 'I doubt your ghosts are anything like mine. Do your ghosts talk back?'  _ Elizabeth mentally questioned. Then she shook herself back to the present. "So, what is the plan?"

"Food first," the older woman shook her head. "Come, come. Follow me."

Then she turned on her heel and left, waving for Liz to follow. With a cocked eyebrow and small sigh, Elizabeth tied a red bandana around her dark, still-damp hair and did as instructed. 

Screams still echoed down the dim hallways of Tenenbaum's safe house alongside the  **_ clack-click-clack _ ** of the woman's heels. They were desperate, hollow sounds, full of anguish and pain and hopelessness. It was unnerving. 

Elizabeth came to a stop, "You mentioned that the screaming was because of a project. Care to tell me about that?"

"It is not important right now," Tenenbaum said simply, waving her hand in disinterest. "The results are not promising right now anyway."

"Yeah, no!" Elizabeth growled, grabbing the older woman by the upper arm and spinning her around so they were facing one another. "Look, you helped me and I'm thankful for that but the fact is that you worked for Fontaine and Ryan! I have no reason to trust you! So unless you start answering some of my questions I am walking out of here and finding my own way!"

Tenenbaum looked at her with a fascinating combination of annoyance and amusement, "No, you wouldn't. You have just as much need to be here as I do. Please do not touch me again."

She pulled away and walked a few more steps... but then paused and turned back around, a contemplative look on her face. "But... I  _ suppose  _ there is no harm in telling you. You still have to eat first though."

* * *

Elizabeth's meal was a bruised apple, a bottle of some strange peach-flavored water that had a weird gritty feeling to it, and a salami sandwich made from dry bread and even drier meat. Still, it was nice to have solid food in her stomach again after so long of being fed through an IV. 

"Go slow," Tenenbaum cautioned, trying to pull the water bottle away. "I don't have many more clean clothes that would fit you if you get sick."

"I'll be fine," she grunted around a mouthful of the sandwich. "So, tell me about this experiment?"

"You are familiar with splicers, correct?"

Liz nodded.

"As Rapture crumbled into chaos, more and more of the citizens who survived became splicers. Others... most died, either killed by others or by killing themselves. The Little Ones encouraged to take in some of these survivors and help them. I was reluctant at first, the supplies I have can only be stretched so far. But I eventually gave in, so they live there and, in exchange for the protection, they do chores to upkeep the base."

Elizabeth nodded again. She'd already met one of these people; her and Tenenbaum's food had been served by a thin, sad-eyed young man. 

"But then there are the splicers. They are drug addicts reduced to being vicious animals hungry for ADAM," the older woman drummed her fingers against the tabletop. "For a long while, I assumed these individuals were just tragic lost causes, another example of how Rapture's greed destroyed lives. 

But then the Little Ones brought me this female splicer. She was young, barely more than a child, and showed signs of having only just succumbed to the ADAM coursing through her veins. Something.... someone had beaten her to near death, to the point she couldn't move or defend herself. I don't know why the Little Ones brought her to me; I almost threw her back out and scolded them for bringing something so dangerous into our safe place. But I realized quickly that she was no threat to anyone, couldn't even feed herself."

"So you gave her medical attention?" Elizabeth questioned.  _ 'Is that what happened to me? Did some of the Little Sisters find me and bring me back here to be healed?' _

"I did," Tenenbaum confirmed. "I patched her up and locked her down so that, as she healed, she would not try to escape or turn violent. It was a good thing I did too. As she regained her strength, she tried to attack me and my assistants several times. The detox was hard on her and watching the process was unnerving, it reminded me of the..."

The older woman trailed off for a moment as something dark and distant filled her eyes. It wasn't there long though, then she shook herself back to the present and continued.

"But, while I was observing it, the thought occurred to me -what if I could artificially speed up the detox process and purge splicers bodies from the ADAM that infected it? Could I save them? Bring them back from the madness that consumed them? 

So I tried. And the girl was my first test subject."

' _ Save splicers? Is this what Booker meant?' _ Liz wondered. "Did it work?"

"Yes... but mostly no," Tenenbaum shook her dead in passive dismay. "The girl died, her body couldn't handle the stress of the detox, no matter how gentle the Little Ones tried to be. The same was true of the next six splicers I attempted it with. So far, the Little Ones and I have attempted it on, only one-in-seven survive and of those survivors, one third are too mentally broken to go on and take their own lives."

A chill ran only Elizabeth at those words and the two women sat in silence for a long while before Tenenbaum spoke up again. "Does that answer your question? Are you happy knowing now?"

Liz said nothing.

"Good, now let us get to our actual work."


	3. Elizabeth III

** Elizabeth III **

"Subject Delta was the first Big Daddy subject to properly bond with a Little Sister," Tenebaum explained, her thin fingers nimbly dancing across the computer console. " I learned of his existence while working for Fontaine when I came across some old files; at the time, it meant nothing to me but since I've started my quest to save the Littles Ones, his existence has become vital to my experiments."

"Subject Delta..." Liz whispered, her blue eyes fixed out the window and at the seemingly lifeless figure. The name was fitting, all things considered. Delta the fourth letter in the Greek alphabet, everyone knew that, but years of pouring over mathematical textbooks cared into Elizabeth's mind that delta was a symbol commonly used in mathematics to represent change or variation.  _ 'If Tenebaum thinks he can help change the tides of things in Rapture, then perhaps it is fate? Should such a thing even exist.' _

"Where did he come?"

Tenebaum shrugged as pistons and cranks began to power on, creaking to life with moans and groans of pain. "Fontaine Futuristics plunked him the Persephone Penal Colony, along with several others, to be test subjects for the Alpha Series conversion. The details beyond that are lost to the wind and waves, I'm afraid."

_ 'Big Daddies, Little Sisters, splicers...,’  _ Liz thought grimly.  _ ‘Fontaine and Ryan have stolen so many lives and for what? Pride? Money? Power?' _

"Fontaine Futuristics had tried many times to create the perfect Big Daddy and Little Sister bond but the road was not easy," the older woman continued. "They had a hard enough time finding males who could withstand the many strenuous plasmid experiments, genetic manipulations, and physiological conditioning they were subjected to. Eventually, they started getting test subjects from Persephone because those who survived inside were, theoretically, stronger than the average citizen and, well, no one would care if prisoners disappeared or died."

She reached over and tapped the glass, pointing to Subject Delta. "He was the first to survive all of this and bond with a Little Sister."

Then she gave Elizabeth a knowing, almost manic look. "There is always something special about the first. If we can use him to find the root of the bond between Big Daddies and Little Sisters, then perhaps we can use that information to rehabilitate the Little Ones."

Liz pursed her lips and looked away from the gears of the enormous mechanical arm she was elbow deep in. 

Would it really help? The imprinting, as far as she knew, was not from any sort of scientific or chemical process or treatment. For her, and the Little Sisters she had helped, it had been a simple act of kindness. By showing an imposing mechanical monster a little bit of humanity, they'd gained a terrifying protector. 

But, then again, Elizabeth had been in a coma for so long and there was so much that she didn't know anymore. 

_ 'God, it is frustrating being so... human!' _

"So, the plan is simple. We extend the mechanical arm to grab Subject Delta, real him in, and then stick him in the vita chamber," Tenebaum said, whipping her hands off on her skirt. "With any luck, we can salvage what is left of him."

"Simple doesn't mean easy. This thing-" she kicked the mechanical arm, the toe of her steel-toed boot causing an audible  **_ clang! _ ** \- "hasn't been in operation for years and we're putting it back together with metal scraps and chewing gum" Liz noted. Then, after a long moment of consideration. "Also, uh, where did you get that vita chamber?"

"I stole it from the Adonis Luxury Resort, piece by piece, and rebuilt it here. I believe that it would come in handy, turns out I was right." the doctor replied simply. "Now, are you ready? It is time for the first attempt."

"There is no time like the present," Liz replied with a shrug. Slamming the gear hatch shut, she stepped back to a safe distance and gave the thumbs up, "Alright, turn it on."

** Snap! Snap! Snap! BUZZ! **

Tenebaum flipped a series of switches and hit a large button to finally activate the undersea salvage arm. "So far so good," she muttered, taking hold of the steering joystick. "Let's see what comes next."

Pressing the joystick forward, the undersea mechanical arm's 'hand' began to stretch out from its waterproof housing compartment into the cold water toward the discarded Big Daddy. It was exceptionally slow going, though part of that may have just been because Elizabeth was watching it all with clenched teeth and bated breath, but, eventually, the metal fingers clasping Subject Delta’s metal arm.

"Jackpot!" Liz grinned, triumph creeping into her veins. 

But Tenebaum just clicked her tongue. "Don't go celebrating just yet, we are only half of the way there," she chided, tapping another series of buttons. 

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Elizabeth mumbled under her breath, "Fingers crossed."

"Beginning recall," the older woman announced, pulling on the control stick once more. 

**_ EEEeeerrrrruugg! _ **

The mechanic arm's groans grew even louder as the gears whirled and the pistons pumped, pulling the large and extremely heavy chunk of metal that was Subject Delta across the ocean floor. Liz watched on, fists clenched at her side and biting her lip; the anxiety of not being able to do anything to help and just plain not knowing what was about to happen was getting to her. 

_ 'I became spoiled,' _ she mused. _ 'I can understand why Rosalind Lutuce is hesitant to give up that power for anything, even those she loves or a potential future. It is hard being human; I have no idea how Booker handled it.' _

"Three meters and closing!" Tenebaum interrupted her thoughts, a smile beginning to pull on the woman's usually stern face. "This may just-"

** Ba-ba-BAM! **

The arm's retraction halted mere feet away and Elizabeth jumped back as black smoke began leaking from the cracks of the undersea arm's control hatch. Grabbing a nearby fire extinguisher -she had insisted, Tenebaum was more ambivalent, or perhaps too eager to enact her plant, to give much thought to the obvious danger- Liz threw the hatch open and readied herself to do some fire fighting.

The hatch now open, the smoke billowed out, filling the air and clouding Elizabeth's vision. Coughing, she waved a hand in front of her squinted through the dark innards of the machine to inspect the damage.

"Thank god," she called to the other woman, "there is no fire, only smoke. It looks like the rubber insulation was rotting away; if we replace that and add some lubricant and coolant, we'll be good to go... Oh, and it looks like a few of the pistons need new compression and oil control rings."

"Das pisst mich an!" Tenenbaum spat, marching over to kick the machine. "Der Scheisskerl! Fahr zur holle! Filzlaus! Das stört mich total!"

Liz just blinked at her, surprised by the woman's outburst. "Uhhh...?"

"We do not have all of that," the doctor growled as an explanation, crossing her arms with an annoyed huff. "I have some machine lubricant laying around... and maybe a little bit coolant as well, though definitely not much, but no rings for the pistons. Damnit, we were so close too!"

"Then we just need to go get it," Elizabeth shrugged, not really seeing the issue. She and Booker had needed to retrieve much during their... adventure in Columbia, how was this any different?

"And how do you propose we do that?" Tenebaum rolled her green eyes. "Rapture is crawling with danger and I refuse to send the Little Ones out there. It is bad enough that they leave to collect food and other supplies, even with their Big Daddies for protection; I won't allow them to take unnecessary risks."

_ 'She really does care about them,'  _ Liz was shocked to realize. Sure, Tenebaum had seemed sincere in her desire to help the little sisters, but sincerity didn't always translate to altruism. "Fine, then I'll go"

The older woman's eyes widened. "What?"

"I've held my own in plenty of dangerous situations," Elizabeth said simply. "Point me to where I need to go and I should have no problem getting what we need."

Tenebaum shook her head, "No no no, it is far too risky. You are needed here."

"We can't do much  _ here _ , can we?" Liz pressed. "So, how much do you really want to help your girls?"

* * *

"Our best bet for getting the materials would be Bancock's Hardware," Tenebaum explained, pointing to the location on a set of blueprints. "It is about a mile away, taking into account the stairs you will have to traverse. If everything goes well, you can be there and back in two-to-three hours with what we need. We can keep in contact via the radio but, if possible, we should keep that to a minimum. The sound might attract others."

Elizabeth bit her lip, studying the blueprints. "It looks like I'll have to go three levels down and across the area. I suppose I can take the vents for some of the trip, stay out of sight for whenever possible."'

"That would be safest," the other woman nodded. "The area will be  _ crawling  _ with splicers and I'm sure that I don't need to that they are-"

"Violent," Liz nodded. "Violent and insane."

"That is putting it mildly," Tenebaum scoffed. "This is going to be unspeakably dangerous, I cannot believe I am allowing it. You are a valuable asset and yet I am letting you risk your life."

"Trust me, I've survived worse," Elizabeth replied. "I just need a weapon. I don’t suppose you have a gun lying around somewhere?"

To her left, sitting slumped in a forgotten chair in the corner of the room, Booker gave her a sad look. Elizabeth’s blue eyes met her father’s green ones for a brief moment before turning away.  _ ‘You can’t protect me this time, Booker, and you can't do it yourself. This is something I have to do on my own.’  _

The older woman bit her lip, eyeing Liz for a moment, before turning to one of the hovering Little Sisters and said, "Bring the case."

The girl obediently scampered off with a smile, returning moments later dragging a large suitcase into the room with the help of another Little Sister. Together, they presented it to Elizabeth with twin adoring looks, "We brought the pretty lady's toys!"

_ 'Toys?' _ Liz crouched down and popped the suitcase open to find the weapons she'd used -and honestly grown quite attached to- during her attempt to save Sally lying before her. She turned to Tenebaum and cocked an eyebrow, "Toys?"

"You had them on you when I discovered your body and since I didn't know if you would be violent when you woke back up so I hid them," Tenebaum shrugged, taking a pull of her cigarette. "But I have found you to be reasonably sane since then, so you may have them back."

"Thanks," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, tugging the Air Grabber up her forearm. Her crossbow, Hand Cannon, shotgun, Radar Range were all there and -judging by the quick inspection of the firearms Liz performed- appeared to be in decent shape, good enough to use in a fight at least. 

_ 'Not much ammo,' _ she noted with a frown as she took stock,  _ 'but hopefully, I won't have to use any at all.' _

Reloading the Hand Cannon, Liz turned to Tenebaum, "Alright, I'm ready."

* * *

"This is how we get out into the city, Pretty Lady," a Little Sister explained as she led Elizabeth by the hand to a small hole in the wall that, upon closer inspection, expanded out into a series of tunnels. The tunnels were narrow, too much so for the average adult but perfect for the tiny body of a Little Sister or, in this case, the slender, petite frame of Liz. 

"There is another, larger entrance but I would rather not open it and leave us vulnerable," Tenebaum explained. 

"Understood," Elizabeth nodded. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Mr. Bubbles and his brothers are out there, protecting us," the Little Sister chirped. "I wish they could live here with all of us but Mama Bri says no."

Liz looked up the older woman for an elaboration. 

"Their Big Daddies patrol the outside of the safehouse and escort the Little Ones when they go to gather supplies." Then the woman smiled down at the Little Sister and patted her head, "It is safest that way."

"Will they attack me?" she, recalling with a shiver how she'd used a Big Daddy to kill Comstock-Booker. 

"I do not know," Tenebaum admitted. "They tend to attack anyone who gets too close but I am unsure how they will react if they see someone leaving, so be cautious."

"Lovely," Elizabeth grumbled as she started to haul herself up into the tunnel. But, before she could anywhere, a hand on the shoulder stop her. 

"Wait," Tenebaum said. When Liz turned to face her, the older woman handed her a fancy silver cigarette case. "Use this wisely."

'I mean, I could definitely use a cigarette but...' Elizabeth popped open the case and all the confusion when she saw the three syringes full of pale purple-blue liquid. "Is this... EVE?"

"Yes," the older woman nodded solemnly. "I do not keep much of it in the safehouse but I think you will need it."

Then she eyed Liz up and down and stepped closer. "The tests I ran on you after you came into my care showed you had three different types of plasmoids in your system. Yet you have impressively managed to avoid all of the negative side effects. Most people can only handle having one type, maybe two if they are especially lucky. I wonder why."

_'Me too,'_ Elizabeth, thinking back to how Booker could handle nearly a dozen vigors coursing through his veins. Glancing to the side to see her father staring back from the reflection in a pane of glass. "We Dewitts are tougher stock than most, I suppose."

And, with that, she hauled herself up into the narrow tunnel and started on her way.


	4. Elizabeth IV

**Elizabeth IV**

Elizabeth crouched down in front of a vent, peering out between the slits into the dim hallway. Somewhere, deep from the stomach of Rapture, distant screams and chaotic shrieks echo through the tunnels and halls. Tenenbaum was right about one thing, however, there were no splicers nearby.

She frowned at the dark smears that stained the walls... then ducked back into the vent when the heavy, lumbering footsteps of an approaching Big Daddy approached. The eerie yellow light from the bioluminescent chemical substance that filled its helmet cast a dim glow that slipped into the vent, causing Liz to go still and hold her breath until it passed. Its massive drill gleamed, even in the minimal lighting, and just the sight of it made her shiver.

Killing Rapture's version of Comstock had been so satisfying at the moment but now it seemed that whenever Liz closed her eyes, she saw him die. 

_'Can't think about that,'_ she reminded herself, keeping her eyes glued to the back of the Big Daddy as it rounded a corner out of sight. _'Okay, **NOW!'**_

She unscrewed the vent, swinging herself down to the floor -carefully to move slowly so that the **_thud_** of her steel-toed boots against the linoleum didn't attract the attention of anyone or anything- and propped the vent covering back into place. 

_**B-b-bzzzzz!** _

Her radio crackled to life, the noise startling Liz; her heart pounding, she pressed the button down and raised it, "It's Elizabeth. I've made it out of the safe house. You need to tell me where to head next... and make it quick. Over."

.  
.  
.

"Tenebaum here," the older woman replied. "You need to turn left and follow the corridor east for roughly seventy-two meters. There you should find another vent that you can use to get to a maintenance elevator; the elevator will likely be out of order but you can still use its shaft to climb down the floor below."

"Roger."

Sticking to the shadows, Liz crept along the wall towards her destination. Her path was, thankfully, clear aside from scattered rubble and debris, but it also stank to high heaven. Due, in no small part to the rotting corpses that dotted the hallway. 

Coming across a fairly fresh one -fresh enough that Elizabeth could make out that it... _had_ been a young man, probably late twenties, with pale skin and dark, longish hair. The corpse's skull had been split in two and one-half of his head had been smeared across the ground with all of his teeth busted out, so she couldn't speak much of his features- she knelt by its side, a hand clamped over her mouth and nose in a futile attempt to block the stench of rot, and searched through his pants pockets. 

"You almost slapped me the first time you saw me looting a corpse," Booker chuckled, peering over her shoulder. "Oh, how times have changed."

"You grabbed a carton of cigarettes right from that police officer's pocket," Liz replied, rolling her eyes. "They were splattered with his blood and you still lit one up!"

"It was a stressful day."

Elizabeth snorted, plucking a bloodstained cigarette carton and dented, but thankfully still usable lighter, out of the corpse's poked. "I know how that feels."

Then she lit up a cigarette, breathing in the sweet, sweet toxic smoke, and ignored the way Booker clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment.

 _'What does he know anyway?'_ she thought. _'He smoked like a chimney and no one knows how bad smoking is for you yet. Plus, he is just a figment of my imagination.'_

...Well, probably.

Anything was possible. 

* * *

"Here it is," Elizabeth mumbled to herself, eyeing the narrow doors of the maintenance elevator. 

The journey here had nerve-wracking -the loud footsteps of the patrolling Big Daddies echoed through the halls, making it difficult to guess where they were- but uneventful. She'd come across a few more corpses -managing to snag some cash and a couple of bullets off of them- and the vent system didn't quite match up with the blueprints, so it took some crawling around in the dark, dusty, cramped space to reach the maintenance room. 

Liz slammed her thumb down on the call button, anxiously bouncing up and down, only for nothing to light up. 

"Right, dead."

"Tenebaum did say that was likely," Booker commented.

"Well, excuse me for hoping something would go our way for a change."

"Ha, now that _would_ be nice." The hallucination of her dead father chuckled. "So, how are you planning on getting the elevator door open? With all due respect, you're not strong enough to pry it open by hand."

But before Booker could even finish the question, Elizabeth had already fished a screwdriver out of one of her pockets.

"If I'm lucky then there should still be some residual power left in the system," she explained, unscrewing the elevator's control panel. Once, they were gone all it took was a mighty tug to pull it from the wall, exposing the internal wires. "A bit of rewiring and..."

**_B-b-b-ING!_ **

After a few stuttering creeks and flickering lights, the elevator doors slid open to expose the pitch-black elevator shaft. Elizabeth tentatively peered down the shaft and shivered; at a glance, it looked like it could be a bottomless pit, lit only by the occasional emergency light. 

_'Huh, I'm surprised Rapture even has that kind of safety measures,' E_ lizabeth mused, eyeing the distance it would take to jump to the internal ladder. 

She turned to Booker. "See you down below."

“Down in the belly of the beast,” the man nodded.

Then she leaped towards the ladder.

* * *

The inside of an elevator shaft was dark and difficult to maneuver in -too many cables and wires- but, after what seemed like forever, Elizabeth reached the bottom of the shaft. Her boots gave a quiet **_thud_** , when she dropped down to the top of the elevator cab. 

_'Way better than heels.'_

"Tenebaum? You there?" she whispered into the radio. 

The device crackled to life and it was a moment before she got a response, slower and through more static than before.

"Yes, how far have you've gotten?"

"I'm standing at the bottom of the maintenance elevator shaft. Where do I go from here?"

There was the sound of rustling paper. "No, no, Little Ones, do not play with that. Put that down... Alright, once you exit the cab there should be a vent across the hallway. Climb up into that then you'll need to turn left and travel straight until you reach a fountain. You'll pass a lingerie store and one that sold watches on the way, but if you see a tie shop then you've gone too far. Now, hurry."

The older woman's bluntness made Liz snort, "I'll do my best."

Flicking on the lighter she nicked from the corpse, Elizabeth squinted through the darkness until she found the elevator escape hatch. 

Going to pull it open, she was stopped by Booker's voice. 

"Maybe you should check if anyone is around?"

Liz looked up, frowning at the concerned look on her father's face. "What do you mean?"

"It's just that... if I were going to lay a trap, then this might be a good place to do it. And, even if there isn't, once you drop down into the elevator, there won't be any cover," Booker explained, tapping the top of the cab with his boot.

Elizabeth gave a soft smile. "Thank you, Booker. That is a good suggestion."

"Eh, well, it is really just your subconscious being worried," he shrugged. "I'm not actually here."

 _'Thanks for reminding me,'_ Liz frowned. "Yeah, otherwise I'd ask you to hold this-" she held up the lighter "-for me."

"That, unfortunately, I cannot do."

Fumbling around, Elizabeth pulled one of the syringes from the small silver case that Tenebaum had given her. Pulling off the cap and putting the needle head against one of her veins, she couldn't help but grumble, "This is probably going to give me tetanus."

Despite that very genuine worry, Liz couldn't deny the euphoric rush she experienced as the EVE flooded her veins.

 _'Easy to see how someone can get hooked to this stuff,'_ she thought, rolling her body. "Hey, Booker, how did I feel whenever you consumed salts or drank a new vigor?"

"Weird," the man shrugged. "Some of them kind of hurt but mostly it felt like I was getting drunk on lightning. And before you ask, no, I never felt... _addicted_ or anything like that."

"How strange... I wonder what makes us so different?"

Booker had no explanation for that, mostly because Elizabeth didn't know either. So she put that question aside as she activated the power of the Peeping Tom plasmoid. The world blurred and she could see through the floor and walls before her. Though devoid of much life, about fifty feet away, Liz could spot the white shapes of other people scurrying about. 

As soon as she established how far the potential threats were, Elizabeth deactivated the ability, already feeling drained. She needed to conserve EVE as much as possible; there was no telling if she'd be able to get her hands on more.

"Pretty close, do you think you can avoid them?" Booker asked.

"I guess we'll see," Elizabeth answered, tapping a broken fingernail against the hand cannon at her hip. 

She wasn't eager to kill, or even injure, someone again. Despite how hardened her heart had become, Liz took no pleasure in such things. Everyone's life meant something -they were all stars in the sky- and, when Elizabeth's killed them, their lights were snuffed out. 

She didn't want to be responsible for that. 

Not to mention, the loud sound of firing a gun would undoubtedly draw more enemies. It would be better to avoid fighting anyone at all. 

With that, she pulled the escape hatch open and dropped down into the cab. 

The small room was dark but empty aside from some discarded tarps, which was a relief. Snapping the lighter open again, the small flame illuminated the cab. To Elizabeth's relief, the elevator door was opened just enough for her to slip through. But, before stepping out into the open hallway, she crouched down but the entrance and held the lighter out to shine some light on the floor before her. 

"Glass," she whispered.

To Liz's dismay, the floor in front of the elevator was covered with bits of broken glass both large and small. The floor itself was linoleum, so walking on it -especially with her steel-toed boots- would make a ton of noise. Sure, the closest people were about fifty feet away and she could easily cross the hallway and be up in the vents before anyone could find her but that would also mean people... splicers would know someone was there. And that would put them on edge. 

"Work the problem, kiddo," Booker advised. "How can you muffle the sound of walking on glass? And remember, every second you plan is a second splicers could be getting closer to you."

Elizabeth clicked her tongue, glancing around the elevator for something she could use. 

_'I could climb back up into the elevator shaft and-'_ Her eyes fell on the tarp once more and something clicked in her mind. _'Of course.'_

She gathered up the tarp, tugging at it something heavy weighed it down. Eventually, she managed to tug it lose... and gagged when the heavy object was revealed to be the withered body of a dead child. 

_'I'm sorry, kid,'_ Liz thought, tears forming at the corner of her eyes at the tragic sight. _'You didn't deserve this. No one did.'_

"Don't let it distract you," Booker pressed. "Keep going."

"I know, I know," she muttered, leaning through the open doors to drape the tarp over the floor. 

The extra layer of padding helped to muffle the sound of breaking glass as Elizabeth walked across it, one hand on her gun and one hand holding the lighter up with her eyes fixed right onto the vent before her. Every sound -ever snap and crack of the glass shards- was painfully loud; every hair on Liz's body was sounding on end as her heart pounded in her ears. 

Down in the halls of Rapture proper, away from the deterring protection of patrolling Big Daddies, Elizabeth could hear screaming and insane, manic chattering echoing from the dark hallways. It was nerve-wracking; every step Liz took towards the large vent could potentially be a step some crazed splicer with a gun was getting to her. By the time she got to the wall, her forehead was drenched in sweat. 

_'Booker wouldn't have bothered with all this sneaking,'_ Elizabeth thought with a forced smile as she went to work unscrewing the vent grate, trying to make light of the situation. _'He would have just charged one, blasting everyone who got in his way like the bullheaded jerk he was. Or maybe he would have picked them off at a distance with his sniper rifle? Booker could be calculating like that too.'_

She felt safer in the vents, though not by much. The grates for them were bigger than they had been for the ones up near the safehouse, so there was a much larger chance that someone would see Liz crawling around in them. Add to that the clunking and thudding of her steel-toed boots against the metal of the vent, and Elizabeth was darkly confident that someone would find her sooner or later. 

But for now, Elizabeth just tried to make as little noise as possible, sliding on her belly like a snake and peering out into the halls to check on her progress through the bowels of the ghost city at the bottom of the sea. 

She'd passed the lingerie store -now burnt out with a torn-up pair of lady's underwear with dried bloodstains hanging from a pole impaled in the wall above the store's door like some sort of grotesque flag- before she saw the first splicer. This one was once a disheveled older man with red hair... though it may have just appeared red because it looked like, in a fit of insanity, the man had ripped out chunks of his hair leaving open, bleeding wounds on his head. In between incoherent mumbling, the splicer was stuffing his face with semi-rotten food and lightly banging his head on the wall he was slumped against. 

"There is nothing you can do for him," Booker -despite not being 'present' at the moment- said, though his voice was sad and full of sympathy. "Keep pressing forward and hope that you can save others later on."

The old Elizabeth would have never done... or thought such a thing. She'd bled empathy for people she had never met before or understood. She'd believed that was goodness, or at least the potential for it, in everyone. 

That old Elizabeth had been a fool. 

So Elizabeth Comstock or Anna DeWitt or Eliza Dewitt or Belle Comstock or Liz Songbird or whoever she was in this timeline, just hardened her heart and pushed forward. 

That mindset would not last long though.


End file.
